2021: Deja Vu.

 

Des Moines, Iowa

I’m not quite there yet.  The dawning of the year usually excites me. I look forward to new opportunities and continued growth. I’m available. I’m ready. I’m curious. I’m eager.

Like most, I start the mental prep work in December, reflecting on the past 12 months – what did I learn? What goals did I accomplish? What could I have done better? 

This year is different: I bite my lip. I shake my head. Hmph. I have running list of things in my mind; a floating docket to actualize in 2021 – most of which are items that fell by the wayside in 2020.

My Work Station.

They had to – I didn’t have a choice. Situations occurred that prompted me to move quickly and became much more important than what I initially planned.

We’re still in the middle of a pandemic. We’re still politically fatigued and socially askew. I tried my best to get what I could, done and gave the rest up in lieu of peace of mind.

Coming into 2021, I knew it would be more of the same for a while.

We thought - just for a moment - an incoming administration offered hope. It didn’t take long before we moonwalked back to 1940’s Nazi Germany in a way that stifle any glimmer of optimism.

People are truculent and implacable – we saw that the first week of January. It reminds of the 5 of Wands tarot card – everyone fighting to be heard but no one listening.

This post isn’t about the opprobrious details or my thoughts on such; you all know what happened.  It’s about the general malaise lingering in the atmosphere and how I’m attempting to push past it.

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I felt ok during the holiday season – being at home with my family, helps. They are a grounding source of comfort. I’m aware of what I have going on [both personally and professionally] and felt motivated to start rolling out pieces in the new year.

I began taking notes here and there, putting the puzzle together. Reading more, doing spurts of research. As always, I aim to continue progress on the book – I made a few strides during Nano and want to reverse and clean it up.

I plan to get parts of the story critiqued by folks who know what they are doing and have the credentials to support their observations.

Blank Board.

I’m nervous to receive their feedback.  The current version of the book has been a W.I.P. (work in progress) for nearly two years – the project itself, for four.  I welcome the criticism. I need the help – I’m not above it. At. All.

But I’m still nervous.

In terms of the blog – nomadicaffeine – I want to bring you more interviews for the #beyondthestroke series. It was birthed out the pandemic to inspire. Survivors want to read these stories. They are yours. They are ours. I think it’s good, positive and productive for the whole of the community.

The problem is: I haven’t written any of this down. I have a top-of-the-year ritual, started in 2013:

I clean, I purge, I smudge with sage. I create a goal board, broken into quarters.  

Jan - March // April -June // July - September // October - December.

This year I have nothing. My board is blank. It scares me to build a draft – I got screwed last year. We all did. Even in 2021, there is so much that is still unknown.

I think I will attack it differently, using major themes to set my agenda; nothing too specific. I don’t want to give myself hard deadlines. I want to make sure I allow for flexibility.

Tumultuous as it may be, we are in a time of deep transformation.

Buckle up.

Mood Music: Dreamworld - Robin Thicke

My Obligatory 'New Years' Post.

 

Anchorhead Coffee

It is officially the start of a new decade.

How Does That Feel?

I’m going to be honest, the realization that an entire decade has elapsed, is surreal.

For a lot of Millennials, it was our first decade as adults – we were thrust into this new world as “contributing members of society,” only to come face-to-face with a recession.

Remember that?  I do.

In 2009, I was 21 and a junior in college. Twenty-fucking-one.

For reference, I’m edging thirty-fucking-two in 30 days.

I started undergrad at 18 with the assumption that I would:

go to college > get a good job > date> marry well > have a baby > discover life with my “new” family.

In exact that order.

Listen, the dreams of the typical Midwesterner are simple: you basically mirror what your parents did. Perhaps fall off-the beaten path for a few years, but eventually make your way back home.

A recession was not in the cards nor the proliferation of technology that would go on to complicate the dating landscape. Don’t even get me started…

I remember breaking up with my long-term boyfriend in 2012 and thinking: “how am I supposed to meet people?!”  Tinder wasn’t quite a thing yet and being social outside of an academic structure seemed unlikely for me.

I was pushed toward the pits of hell called “online dating” – OkCupid, Match.com.  Truth be told, I had been meeting people off the internet since my MySpace days, but we don’t need to talk about that…

My psychic abilities failed to tell me I would be making my way into the arctic jungle full of fake progressives known as Minneapolis, let alone the west coast.

Or have brain hemorrhage.

The universe cackles.

Obviously, this was my biggest challenge and subsequent triumph of the decade. My core was shaken: physically, mentally and emotionally. Shit got real. Radiation. Rehab. Depression. “WhAt Am I dOiNg WiTh My LiFe?!”

That whole bit.

I decided to start a blog when no one was blogging anymore.

Lol.

And now I’m writing a book about it.

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I lived this past decade as a 20-something:

The opportune time to make mistakes without critical judgement. More often than not, people will blame your stupidity on your youth. Trust me, I’ve made a lot of mistakes and continue to fuck up every now and again.

I’d like to think I have the tools to process and navigate those situations with much more ease, these days.

The Quaffle.

Thank you, life. Shitty relationships. Aimless career moves. Precarious situations I had no business being in. Bad sex. Poorly maintained friendships. Lemon drop shots and 15 years of therapy off and on.

If you catch me in a good mood, on the right day, when I’m not ovulating and the weather’s nice…I’ll probably still be down for a lemon drop shot.

Also: when we’re talking about fuck ups, your mileage may vary.

If you did it right, you brought some major keys with you into your 30s.

If you did it wrong [and by “wrong,” I simply mean: you spent zero time in introspection and learned nothing] you will repeat those gaffes in your 30s.

If you’re like most of us, you did some half-ass introspection and self work only after an terrifying situation woke you the fuck up, somewhere between the ages 27-32. That first BIG meltdown is a doozy.

You realize how difficult putting the actual work in is and decide to “do the rest later.”

Let’s be clear: in certain areas, you will not get the same grace at 30 that you would have at 25.

My most recent ex learned this the hard way.

In 2009, I couldn’t wait for college to be over. I was one of the not-so-lucky-few that had tumultuous college experience, leaving me with little to no friends, no contacts and no network to tap into.

Next to that, the world was telling me that my financial future was bleak.

I was still hopeful and bright-eyed – yes, the economy was a big heaping pile of shit, but I just knew I could sift through it and figure it out.

I had time and naivete on my side.

You don’t know what you don’t know…until you do.

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It is officially the start of a new year.

What Does That Look Like?

I’m sure you’ve read tons of articles hearkening in 2020, reflecting on the past year. My 2019 – as I mentioned in my Instagram stories – was subpar. Not all of it, but a lot of it.  The downward trajectory began in mid June after returning to Seattle from my trip home.

Unfortunately, things that I thought would get done, did not get done; there were a lot of fails and setbacks both personally and professionally.

It wasn’t a great year, guys.

A lot of my personal goals are heavy. Large. They take time. Energy. Effort.

My thoughts about 2020 are this: I am optimistic. I know everyone is declaring 2020 as their year, but I feel it in my spirit that I will finally bring to fruition some of the projects/goals I’ve been working toward over the past 4 years.

Honestly, it’s like being back in undergrad with a better support system, more money, slightly better sex and a bit more insight into how the world works.

I guess that’s all I can ask for.

Cheers!

Mood Music: We Are Young - Fun ft. Janelle Monae

Recalibrate.

 

Slate Coffee Roasters

I had to take a little hiatus at the end of October; it was unexpected. The initial plan was to complete a stellar NaNo – that was a fail. Whomp. NaNoWriMo kicked my whole entire ass in 2018.

I used the majority of my NaNo time, to do more organizing of the story [jotting down ideas and producing a sort of storyboard-esque vision] and less writing.

In terms of word count, the results weren’t great guys. I got up to maybe 2,000. Ugh.

I’m reminded, yet again, of NaNo 2016 – that fall I broke up with my toxic ex, America was set aflame and I decided to hug a pack [or two] of L&M Menthol 100s.  

Back then, I was able to push through; I needed a distraction from all of the calamity happening around me. NaNo was my outlet. If I recall correctly, 2016 was the first year I decided to participate. I wanted to prove to myself that my ex nor the incoming Commander-In-Cheeto could stop me. I came out strong – that blog post is here.

In 2018…not so much. Unfortunately, the attempt to reach my personal goal of 10,000 words was futile – I had way too much going on, including some health issues and the death of my Grandmother that made it difficult to produce. My heart wasn’t in it. My mind wasn’t focused.

Good News: after spending some much needed time in Iowa with my family, I feel a lot better. More relaxed, more inspired, more centered. I spent two weeks in the trenches of a rural encampment [well, not really, just my parents house, literally in the middle of nowhere]. Point is: no traffic, no lights, no sirens. Nothing but stars and cows.

Truth be told, I was at this coffee shop for my NaNo post back in October. O’well.

The first week of my stay was somber. Most of my paternal side was in a dismal place as we mourned the loss of Grandma Ruthie. Even now as I write this, it doesn’t seem real. You always think you will have people, until you don’t. I was sure we would have her another 10 years.

I miss my Grandma, dearly. She was widowed in 1994 when my Grandpa died of cancer. Shortly after, her mood switched; she was never quite the same. Ruthie was a cantankerous woman – I’m sure my natural irritability comes from that side of the family. She was also brazen, loved the outdoors and showed ardent fearlessness, having spent her young adulthood in a post-war, Jim Crow era when things were certainly separate, but nowhere near equal.

Grandma didn’t take no shit and could back it up with her quip-y comebacks.

She gave zero of the fucks.

Grandpa James was the only one that could soothe her – when he passed, Ruthie’s ruthlessness, worsened. She was angry with him for leaving and spent the next 24 years taking it out on everyone within a 2 mile radius. We loved her regardless, but Grandma was a very complicated woman.

In 2016, she was admitted to an assisted living facility and hated every minute of it. She had to be moved to different residences throughout metro Iowa. Ruthie was a difficult for the staff to deal with.

Sidebar: as an adult, I recognize that a large part of my personality comes from my father, which by extension, comes from her. Slightly neurotic, aggy, and almost always pessimistic. Except when I drink: at that point, I’m giggly and overly affectionate. I love to knock back a blonde ale or sip a super gingery moscow mule.

Ruthie was miserable and had, had enough. In 2018, she saw the eyes of her grandchildren…all 8 of us. And her own children too – including the one in Minneapolis who she fought tirelessly for years over things that no longer matter.

I honestly think older folk know when it’s time; they can feel it in their soul.

She died December 5th 2018. It was decided that her funeral would be held on her birthday – December 15th.

Blood red casket. Stylish ensemble with a matching church hat.

Get it Grandma! She wouldn’t want it any other way.

The weather was unusually nice – warm and sunny in mid-December. With the exception of the latter half of the second week [if you follow me on IG, you may have caught my little “incident” involving a rental car and a mud pit] the whole of my trip saw gorgeous, clear skies!

Week 2 was a little less depressing; the majority of my days were spent shuffling through terrible reality TV, attempting to find space to see friends and other family from my mother’s side…and Tinder swiping. My Dad had the nerve to ask: “So are you having fun with that?”

Ugh. Daddy?!

I digress.

Babies are no longer babies – we have high school graduates and a handful on the edge of entering those tragic years. Voices have dropped 4 octaves, hair is longer, boyfriends are now in the picture. Time is a-flying. My cousins who I remember as children are full blown teenagers! Acne and all, ha.

I miss so much of their transitions being on the west coast!

Now that I’m back in Seattle, I’m settling in to the new year with a new[ish] mindset – it’s time to get this show back on the road.

Mood Music: In A Sentimental Mood - Duke Ellington & John Coltrane